


Home Movies

by ezziesworld (orphan_account)



Series: The Depraved Adventures of Joker and You [8]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: After care, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Breathplay, Creampie, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Knifeplay, Light BDSM, Masochism, Powerplay, Rough Kissing, Sadism, Spanking, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:09:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23495848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ezziesworld
Summary: You and Joker make a sex tape.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Reader, Joker (DCU)/You, Joker/Original Female Character(s), Joker/You
Series: The Depraved Adventures of Joker and You [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696144
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52





	Home Movies

_It wasn’t the first time you’ve been tied up, and it certainly wouldn’t be that last._

You looked like an erotic Christmas present, your body bare say for the crimson silk that hugged your skin. Normally, he would use rope, the thick kind with coarse frays that dug into your skin, but he wanted more of an effect this time around, _what with the holidays among you._ It was a thick spool of ribbon, one you imagined he snagged off the shelf in some superstore’s holiday isle, (never paying, of course), and he used every last inch to tie you up. 

It wrapped around your torso, like a flesh and silk candy cane. It’s shimmering fabric snug above and beneath your breasts, wrapped around your ribs, and wound down the smooth expanse of your arms. Behind your back your arms laid parallel, your wrists bound close to the opposite elbows, tight and secure. It forced your spine into a slight forward arch, your shoulders back as though frozen mid stretch. It was a complicated process, but one J had perfected. 

“ _Beautifully_ wrapped present--can’t wait to _tear you open.”_

J approached the worn mattress, his trench and blazer discarded and boasting a sizable bulge in his pinstripe slacks. You, however, were more focused on his face. He had reapplied his makeup, the smeared and disheveled state prior replaced with a fresh coat of his achromatic colors of choice. His eyes were flicking along your vulnerable body with a familiar gleam of hunger--although, there was something else there. Mischief, if you didn’t know better--as he breached the distance from where he stood, and the bed. 

He had perched you on your knees, just shy of the edge. You felt as though if you moved, you would fall from the heavens; your legs were free, but your arms wouldn’t be there to catch you. J bent himself at the waist, bringing a hand up towards your face. The feel of leather encasing your chin made you shiver, how he absently dug his fingers into your jaw giving you a thrill. He didn’t always intend on hurting you, but sometimes he can’t help it---like a strongman performing meticulous tasks, he can’t control his strength, and _sometimes,_ he breaks things--but he takes the time to piece you back together when it’s over. That was your favorite part. You’d let him shatter you completely if it meant he would fix you. 

“Y’know, one thing that really makes it feel like the, ah, _holidays_ are home movies. _Don’t you think, doll?”_ J was holding you in place, keeping his black eyes on you in search of an answer. You knew better than to keep him waiting. 

“Yes sir.” You replied, curt. He flashed you a grin, all yellow teeth and deviance. You felt your heart steadily pick up in your chest-- _home movies? Oh..._ Oh. He caught the revelation in your eyes, giving a forceful tug of your jaw as he leaned down and kissed you. The fresh paint was tacky on your lips. You poked your tongue out to prod against his mouth, earning a sharp nip of his teeth in warning. J then rolled his face along yours, like he was stamping a picture onto a letter, but rather a crimson grin onto flesh. 

When he pulled back, his makeup had taken a toll. Not his eyes, though. The black around his eyes was painted on thick, crisp in comparison to the smeared red of his mouth. He looked pleased with the result, his thumb stretching from your chin to your lower lip, proceeding to pull the plump flesh down in a mock pout. You had to fight the little tug on either side of your mouth as he admired you in a moment of brief contemplation. 

“Don’t move an inch, _sweethear-t_. I’ll be right back.” The words were wistful, much like the absent response you received when he was gone in the depths of his mind. The thought made you shudder; when he was like that, the only theme in his head was malice, conjuring up convoluted plans of mayhem and destruction.

He drew himself back, flicking his tongue out and drawing his lower lip between his teeth for a beat. It released with a sounding pop, and then he was pivoting on a heel and walking toward the door. You followed his lengthy frame and silently admired the broadness of his shoulders, the narrowed taper of his waist, his long legs and tawny forearms, exposed to the chill in the room with the rolled up sleeves of his dress shirt. You trailed ahead of yourself, thoughts veering off course to the _feel_ of him; solid, coiled muscle that ran the lengths of his lithe frame like steel cords. Large hands that sometimes wore gloves, sometimes not-- _you hoped he would take the gloves off this time, the drag of his nails always made you that much more excited_ \--grabbing your flesh and kneading you like you were nothing more than a ball of dough.

You wondered if he had the ability to be gentle. It was a fleeting thought, the image of his broad torso above you, slowly undulating with a twisted look of pleasure you had seen a million times before morphed into the only thing you knew; fucking you hard, _fast._ That look of pleasure was accompanied with a snarl of a grimace, like he wanted to drive himself inside you and break you (he always did). Choking you, biting you, pinning you down with a frustration that only simmered when he found his own relief. Sometimes, it brought fear alongside the pleasure; if he lost himself, you’d see that wild, inhuman glow in his eyes, and he’d hear a harrowing whisper in the back of his mind. He would bring himself to lay beside you after if he felt it. Grounding himself with your soft hands, shooing away the darkness like you were swatting metaphorical mosquitoes from his mind. 

You found yourself loving him more for it. It was a sick thing, you were all too aware, but you always pondered on the restraint he held in those moments. In your head, (which was twisted in your own right. There was a reason you got on so well with the Clown), it was his own way of showing he cared. And then there came the after moments; when you were falling apart and floating as though you were having an outer body experience, body aching and throbbing, and he would take the time to tether you back to reality. He would talk you down, touch your face with hands that didn’t strangle, kiss you with a refrain from drawing blood. Those moments were few and far in between, kept behind the lock and key of his mind, and always altruistic. 

You were lost in your thoughts, an absent smile on your face as J walked into the room. In his hands, he held a camcorder. He was already recording, capturing your wandering expression with a whimsical giggle. 

“What’s on the mind, dollface?” He asked. You blinked yourself from your thoughts with an involuntary shudder. 

You answered, “Just you.” Your heart had settled in his absence, the sight of him with the camcorder gave it a swift kick. He had this look on his face, reminiscent of a parent recording what would later be heartfelt moments to look back on. It made you swallow thickly. He approached, 

“How’s about we make some, ah, _memories?”_ He jeered. He brought the camera close, steadying it with one hand and reaching out with the other. He cradled your jaw once more, drawing his thumb upwards again but this time he pressed the leather clad digit against your lips, coaxing you to open. You did, adding a touch of a mewl in the process. 

“Look at that--a _natural._ ” 

You let him draw your mouth obscenely wide, your tongue flicking around his thumb with an extra ounce of innocence dropped into your glazed eyes. J’s breath had picked up now, not quite fast but it was heavy, excited. 

“Are you gonna show me how _bad_ you’ve been?” He asked.

You gave a moan in response. Your knees knocked together, rubbing up and down and drawing a light friction between your legs. 

“Y’know, I’m no _Santa,_ but if I were, I’d _punish_ you.” There was a touch of a growl to those words. It made you shudder with excitement, your tongue working around his thumb with another moan. When he drew it away, your spit clung for a beat before dropping to your chin. 

“Punish me, please.” You were shameless, a hint of desperation cracking your words. J was the only person who was able to bring it out in you; this lewd neediness that burned beneath your skin, that ached and you’d do anything for him to slake it. His touch was something you thrived on, be it the gentle caress he rewarded you with, or the brutal grapple he held you in. 

“I’ve been a bad girl--please, _punish me._ ” 

J had taken to running his hand through your hair, the leather of his glove snagging the strands in the thick stitching, little tugs that went from zero to one-hundred in a blink of an eye. He took a handful, winding it around until his knuckles were flush with your skull. 

“How can I say _no_ to a face like _that?_ ” He mused, tugging. It was a sharp movement, yanking your head back and forcing an arch into your neck. The camera was lingering in his off hand, tilted and held loosely. You imagined the footage he was getting would be off kilter, skewed. 

In a moment of self indulgence, he dipped down and gnawed at your exposed neck, working down the column with a forceful bite that bruised every other playful nip. You were panting now, your chest heaving with excitement, your eyes drawn to the camcorder that sat idly before he pulled away. His hand slipped from your hair in favor of his slacks, working the fastens with a haste that made you tremble. 

The bed sat on an old, downtrodden metal frame that creaked in protest every time you laid down, as if to say _‘I’m too old for this’_. When The Joker decides that he wants to indulge himself in the more carnal vices of life, the bed screams nearly as loud as you do. At first, you hated it--it made your skin itch with annoyance, because it groaned in unison to the brutal push and pull of his hips. You still kind of hate it, but you’d come to terms with it’s contribution to your erotic symphony. 

Right now, you were glad for it. 

It wasn’t too tall, and as you sat on your haunches dangerously close to the edge, it leveled you near perfect with his cock, which had been pulled from the confines of his slacks, leaking a pearly white at the tip. You licked your lip at the sight of him, looking like a kid at a candy store, his gloved hand languidly stroking his thick girth from base to tip. 

“Gimme a show, _babygirl._ ” J said, coaxing you to glance upwards, following the plane of his torso. Rather than capturing his hooded gaze, you found the unblinking lens of the camera, held at a downward angle to capture you in frame alongside his impressive length. A string of butterflies fluttered in your stomach, the urge to please him was as good of an incentive as what would follow.

With an exaggerated guileless you said, “Yes sir.” While tilting your chest forward. You licked at his tip, drawing your tongue beneath the head to tickle that especially sensitive spot, before gliding upwards and back, letting him drop from your mouth with an erotic bob. He gave a short huff of breath, his voice finding purchase mid exhale with a deep groan. Capturing his tip once more, you wrapped your lips around him and hollowed your cheeks, gliding down the smooth velvet of his cock until he hit the back of your throat. 

Your tongue worked the underside, caressing the pulsing flesh with a doe eyed glance upwards. Behind the camera’s bulky form you could see the curve of his lips, for a brief moment feeling empowered, that feeling swept away when he grabbed the back of your head and firmly pressed. He slipped past your threshold, poking dangerously at your gag reflex with a laugh that was equal parts debauched and malicious. A fleeting moment of panic--- _choking, can’t breathe_ \--your fingers curled into the soft flesh of your arms, tugging on the ribbon that J had so securely wrapped around you. 

“Take it all--- _there we go_ \---open your eyes, bunny. _Look at me._ ” 

You had screwed your eyes shut, fighting the innate urge to gag around him as your nose buried in the coarse hair at his base---you could feel him in your throat, the urge to inhale there but impossible. Your nose was running now, deciding it wanted to have a play with the watered glaze of your eyes. Your jaw was beginning to ache, tongue pushed flat against his length. With the threaten of tears, your lids fluttered open and you glanced upwards.

“Oh, now _that’s_ a good angle.” J leered, the tension in his jaw showing in the form of rippling muscle. His hand, which had laid palm flat against the back of your head, curled fingers into your hair and tugged, pulling you off him with an obscene wet pop followed shorty with a cough and a stutter. You inhaled sharply, the malicious gleam of his eyes telling you that air was now a privilege. 

“Open.” It came as a growl, and you did. Your jaw dropped and your tongue slid past your lips with an eagerness akin to a well trained dog--- _you’d get a treat, all right._ J snapped his hips forward, pushing his cock into your willing mouth and down your throat once more. The binds of ribbon dug into your ribs like a crimson corset, each sharp inhale as he pulled back slicing into your fair skin. 

He had reached a point where that precious bite of air was a long forgotten commodity, and you felt the tears that threatened earlier follow through on their word, streaking down your face and mingling with the slick wet of your spit and his precum. Your jaw was aching, closing on it’s on own accord despite your will to keep it open, teeth grazing his thick length as he pushed and pulled himself in your mouth. 

Absently, amidst the lewd sound of him fucking your mouth, you heard the clench of leather clad fingers tighten around the camera, which had steadied with a rigid stillness on your face. He gave a low growl, slipping past his mangled lips like a hiss--- _oh, he loved that._ He may be a sadist, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t find his own pleasure in pain. With intent this time, you scraped your incisors along his cock as he moved, giving a muffled hum.

J gave the closest noise to a moan thus far, a stuttering growl that made your pussy clench, your knees rubbing together to alleviate the needy prickle of pressure that resided deep in the depths of your stomach. He came down your throat first, the feel of it sliding heavily before he pulled back and finished on your tongue--thick and hot, it pooled on your taste buds with a salty headiness. 

“ _Look at you, doll_ \---such a good little _slut._ ” He snarled, his voice picking up a gravelly cadence as he slowly stroked his length. With a sharp groan, he gave a final push and came across your cheek, diagonal from mouth corner to eye. “Now--” He was panting, breath heavy and pornographic, _“Whaddya say?”_

“Thank you, sir.” You made it a point to glance at the camera’s lens, darting your tongue out to the corner of your mouth with an innocent smile, looking more like you were licking up the remnants of an ice cream cone rather the hot cum that currently stuck to your lower lashes. You didn’t need to see the tape to know how filthy you looked; you could _feel_ it. Tears, spit, cum, the faded residue of his crimson kiss. It stuck to your skin in a film like some type of erotic face mask. 

“Atta girl.” With a none to gentle pat against your cheek, you saw a flash of a toothy grin before he dropped his hand to your shoulder and pushed. You squeaked an exclamation, your arms tugging absently on their restraints in an instinct to catch yourself before falling onto the mattress with a huff of breath. The tug of the ribbon was ever present, your back arching high off the worn sheets to alleviate the pressure of your shoulders. 

Despite the less than ideal bondage (or highly ideal, depending on which way you looked at things), you found yourself smiling. J stood at the edge of the bed, the camera held outwards with a subconscious lean of his torso. He was immersed in the little screen, panning the lens from your legs, which dangled lazily off the edge of the bed, upwards. He caught the dewy skin of your thighs, the exposed wetness of your cunt, your plush belly and the ribbon corset that wrapped around your torso. Your breasts, bare in all their glory and the hardened buds of your nipples. The lingering attention he paid to filming your body was like that of a man recording history in the making, entirely rapt. 

“You do have such a _beautiful_ body, doll--” He drawled, bringing the camera upwards until he caught your flushed, filthy face in the frame. “Almost _per-fect._ I’d say too _per-fect._ ” He pondered a beat. He crawled onto the bed, straddling your waist between his lengthy thighs while keeping you in the picture. Looking past the camera, you could quite literally see the shift in his gaze; from enraptured to malevolent with a simple blink of his eyes. The click of the knife opening shouldn’t have surprised you, but for some reason, it did. You flinched, as though that sound had trained you to fear--- _which wasn’t far from the truth._ You were torn between watching his expression and keeping your focus on the blade, which lowered to your face to lay flat against your cheek. 

“ _Y’know,_ scars tell a story--” He began, and you shivered, (wanna know how I got these scars?) “Like ah, that _pretty_ little scar you’ve got on your leg, remember that?” You did, you remembered it vividly; J had gotten ahead of himself and recklessly dug the knife into your flesh to the point it seared white hot. You were beginning to feel a dreadful sense of deja’vu as he continued on, “It’s a good story, hmm. One of my _fav-or-ites._ How’s about...We make _another story?”_

“J--” You began, and for the first time that night you were feeling hesitant. J cocked his head, giving you a look of contempt as though he expected better of you. In the midst of all this, and coming to no shock to yourself, you were squirming beneath him like your body was subconsciously asking him to do it. He had branded sick desires into your very being, his disapproving look morphing into one of amusement. He knew damn well what he did to you.  
“Oh, bunny. Have some faith in me.” At that, he brought the knife to your sternum, where he proceeded to drag downwards with a force that broke skin. He did it quick, the pain of it felt lagged, the sensation of flesh being split catching up with a strangled moan of agony and pleasure. He drew it down until he met the ribbon that dug above your breasts, drawing the blade away with a low growl. 

“Red’s a good color on you, _sweethear-t._ ” He commented, although it sounded distant, far off in his mind. He was infatuated with the blood that pearled to the surface, like it called to the darker depths of his mind. Disregarding his meticulous camera work, he shimmied his way down your thighs and dipped his torso. The feel of his tongue was rough against the laceration, like a strip of sandpaper being dragged across your open wound. It was an odd thing, as you felt the spit he left in his wake cool in the air and draw a shiver. 

You whined, sounding desperate and pleading for clemency all at once. J followed the line down your middle, lapping at your wound with a low, feral growl. 

“Please--please, J.” 

And he, being the man that he was, retraced his prior path upwards rather than following the crimson trail to your dripping cunt. He pressed his tongue flat along the fresh cut until he reached the divot of your collarbone. Somewhere along the line, he had discarded the camera. He held the knife in one hand, the other reaching up to tangle in the mess of hair atop your head. 

“Keep beggin’, doll.” He growled, hot breath pooling in the junction of your neck and shoulder as he absently kissed along your flesh. Down, between the chasm of your bodies, you felt his length rest idly against your thigh, hot and heavy. A small buck of your hips graced you with a ghostly touch against your slit before J pulled himself away. 

“Please, J-- _please touch me_ \--s-sir.” The words tumbled from your lips with little thought, driven with the carnal need for his touch. J sat straight, withdrawing his hands completely. He looked deep in thought, absently playing with the knife. Pressing the sharp end into the tip of his gloved forefinger, he swiveled it around with a hum. 

“I don’t know--I’m not really, ah... _feeling it.”_ He mused, and his attention was once more drawn to the camera. He plucked it from beside you, leveling it with a wicked grin, “Show me somethin’ _good,_ bunny. I wanna see all those _little emotions.”_ Bringing the knife back into play, he traced the curve of your jaw with the tip. It was instinct that had you tilting your head back, and a need to please that pulled the pitiful whine from your throat. 

It was no news to you that J’s tastes were unconventional, and this was certainly not the first time he’s drawn the blade across your skin. However, it _was_ the first time that he’d brought the camera into play; it added a whole new aspect to the embrace, and you realized then that J was putting on a show. He’s always had a bit of artistry in him, and right now it was in the form of your little home video.  
“Please, sir--- _please touch me_ I want you to touch me _so bad._ I want you inside me-- _I want to feel your cock inside me_ \--I want you to _fuck me_ until I can’t take it anymore--” Your voice was shaken, tremulous but you held an innocent flair to your tone that had him grin. It made your stomach coil and your chest to twist, like that little glimmer of pride in his eyes was your entire reason for living. 

“Now we’re _gettin’ somewhere.”_ J remarked, letting the blade fall to your neck. He followed the tendon down, tracing the protrusion of your collarbone with a smooth flick, before traveling down it’s earlier path from clavicle to sternum, passing over the red ribbon to dig into the valley between your breasts. You sucked in a breath, tensing as he graced the unmarked skin with a shallow sliver. It stung, although not nearly as painful as the prior cut, coaxing a soft whine from your swollen lips. J looked content with your response, following his own movements with the camcorder as he traced the rounded flesh of your breast. 

He took his time in flicking the knife against your hardened nipples, drawing it from side to side with the flat end of the blade. The sensation of it sent a shiver down your spine, your knees locking closed beneath him and absently rubbing together. Then, he stopped--and it were as though he grew _bored_ of the game, his ebony gaze squinting to the point all you saw was black. He deftly dropped the knife onto the mattress, shifting while grabbing hold of the ribbon around your torso. 

He yanked, and you followed the movement until you found yourself face down on the bed. With an encouraging slap against your ass, you drew your legs up. The chill in the room caressed your backside, cooling the arousal that seeped from your pussy as though it were crying to be filled. His hand withdrew for a beat, then returned with the feel of skin on skin. He palmed the roundness of your backside, soothing if you didn’t know any better, before coming down with an abrupt crack of his palm. 

“J!” You yelped, the giggle he responded with sounded nothing short of wicked. His fingers tickled as he crept to the other cheek, giving it the same treatment. The resounding smack of skin made you flinch nearly as much as the flash of pain it brought. The initial contact was brutal, but the searing burn left in wake of his palm was somehow worse. With fingers that dug, he grabbed hold of the plush flesh and kneaded it. 

“You want me to _fuck_ you, _sweet-heart?”_ He enunciated sharply, and you nodded desperately against the sheets. The mess of cum, spit and sweat had the thin fabric sticking to your face, you absently felt a bit of drool slip from the corner of your mouth. 

“Yes sir, _please_ fuck me.” You panted. J leaned himself over you then, pressing his solid erection against the cleft of your ass as he brought the camera around. This time, he held it out to capture the both of you, 

“One more time, for the ah, _memories.”_ He jeered, dipping his head down to capture the cusp of your ear between his teeth. He bit much too hard, feeling like he would pierce the cartilage with the force of it. Your face screwed up in pain, a sharp cry bursting past your lips, 

_“Y-Yes sir! Please-please fuck me!”_

Letting your ear go, he nuzzled into your neck with a low hum. You found yourself opening up like a blooming flower and reveling in the rare display of affection, before he was pulling himself back, taking that intimacy with him. His hand followed the track of your spine, gliding down and bringing forth an involuntary arch of your back, the touch slipping away and replaced with the familiar pressure of his cock against your slick folds. 

You imagined he had brought the camera to frame, capturing the shot as he pushed himself into your tight heat, the sinfully tight vise of your walls gracing your ears with a low, drawn out groan. It didn’t matter how many times you’ve done this; J always stretched you to the point it ached, although most often than not it was a startling type of pain driven forth with his rough nature. This time, it was slow. He languidly sheathed himself, drawing out that delicious burn as he sank to the point his hips were flush against your ass. 

“Oh my _God.”_ You gasped. You had pushed your forehead into the mattress, your teeth grit as he bottomed out. He filled you so _incredibly_ well---you could feel him in the deepest parts of your body, pulsating with his own arousal. 

“Such a _pretty_ picture.” He growled, grabbing hold of your flank with his bare hand, he dug his nails into the soft skin and pulled you closer. You didn’t think it was possible, but you felt him sink deeper, a minute amount that sent a jolt of pain up your spine. With a steeling huff of breath, he moved. 

J was known for his patience; convoluted plans that required days worth of waiting and watching, like a life threatening chess game, he was more than willing to wait for his turn. When it came to _sex,_ that methodical patience was thrown out the window. What began as a languorous forward and back of his hips evolved into the obscene smack of his pelvis against your ass, fucking you hard into the mattress with a vigor that left you voiceless. 

You hadn’t even the means to _moan._ Your chest felt like it was caving in with the unrestrained force of his movements, shoulders buried hard into the mattress as your fingers dug into your forearms. It was so overwhelming, you didn’t even acknowledge the protesting creak of the bed frame, crying out it’s out displeasure as J fucked you into a stupor. The only thought that swarmed your mind was the debauched ache of his cock, driving into you with an inexorable back and forth, hitting home every single time. 

Absently, you felt the drool again---slipping from your lips and to pool onto the sheets, you were slack jawed but no sounds escaped your throat say for the occasional sharp whine. 

J then gave a resonate growl, the sound of it piercing through your reverie with a tug against your arms. He gripped the bindings that tied them together, using it as leverage to drive himself deeper, impossibly deep, bringing back that twinge of pain with every salacious thrust of his hips. You heard him groaning--- _like music to your ears._ You clung to it, using it as a tether to keep you afloat before finally finding your voice.

It came in the form of a high keening moan, driven forth with the abrupt wash of pleasure that drowned your insides. You began pushing back in time, impaling yourself on his cock in search of that debauched pain that mingled so perfectly well with your pleasure. 

“J-- _J!--fuck--I’m gonna--”_ You cried, before suddenly biting down hard on your lower lip. It hit you hard, slamming into you like like a brick wall at a hundred per hour, a crippling type of sensation that shot through every single nerve in your body. The velvet heat of your cunt spasmed in time, drawing J in with an unrestrained shudder. Somewhere in your euphoria you heard him swear, a sharp exclamation as you came around his cock. 

He didn’t bless you with the time it took to float back down; he withdrew himself from you and tugged sideways on your bindings, knocking you to your side with a fierce snarl. You fell like a crumbling tower, your body throbbing and quivering with residual tremors. Through your blissful stupor you caught him as he discarded the camera, bringing his hands down to your body in favor. 

J took hold of your waist, dragging you across the mattress. He grabbed your leg in haste, digging into the sensitive flesh behind your knee as he drew your ankle onto his shoulder. Through your muddled vision, you watched his expression twist as he slid himself inside you---that contorted type of pleasure you knew all too well. As you whined, he gave a shuddered exhale, leaning himself over you to the point your knee grazed your chest. It pressed all the air from your lungs, and you wanted nothing more than to find an anchor in the broad muscle of his shoulders. Your arms twitched in silent agreement. 

He seemed to lose himself then; bringing his lengthy torso over your own, bending you as he clutched a handful of the soft skin on your thigh, pushing outwards to keep you splayed despite the radical twist of your body. He drove forward with a new type of vigor--long, purposeful movements that had him nearly slipping out before driving back into your tight heat with a growl. It felt as though every steadfast thrust he made penetrated to the very core of you. 

His hand, which had been dwarfing your breast in a grip of steel, climbed upwards, dancing over the fresh lacerations on your chest before wrapping his fingers around your throat. He had that look in his eyes; the inhuman glow, the depths of his pupils blown wide to the point all you saw was ebony. A stuttering moan slipped past his lips, and then he squeezed. It was an iron hold, his nails threatening to pierce skin, the air that was in short supply suddenly depleted--you were dizzy with pleasure, lightheaded and absent in your own mind. You might have given a moan, but the sound of it was trapped in your constricted windpipe. 

J was relentless, never letting up in his brutal pace, and you were floating somewhere in the oblivion of your mind; thrums of pleasure that were like muffled waves against a shore. Your eyes had fluttered shut on their own accord, your hips gyrating absently in your incoherence. He had you locked in place beneath his lengthy frame, pushing the limits of your body when he leaned down and kissed you. It didn’t feel like a kiss-- _it felt like he was trying to eat you alive._ The bite of his teeth clamping your lip, drawing a faint copper to your mouth, the wild sweep of his tongue past your teeth, his growls filling you and vibrating inside you, rattling what little remained of your suffocated mind. 

The waves had started to rise, and J began tugging you against him with the hold of your neck. His mouth had left yours, giving strangled words that eked back your perception.

“Come on, _c’mon---come for me_ \---come on my cock like a _good little slut_ \--” They sounded twisted, and low. His voice deepened with the edge of a growl, and with a slight shift in his hips, you did. 

Ever the obedient, your body reacted in kind; the pleasure erupted inside you, a deep warmth that shot right up your spine to escape your throat with a strangled scream. The waves escalated to a maelstrom, basking you in lightheaded euphoria. Your eyes screwed shut and you saw bursts of color explode in the darkness. Your entire body wanted to arch, pushing down on J’s shoulder like you were trying to kick him off. You were confined in more ways than one, the ribbon slicing into your skin and his body holding you fast, and in some far off part of your brain, you were glad for it. The pleasure was overwhelming, his brutal grip of your neck assured it would be, and it felt as though it were tearing you apart, slipping inside every crevice of your being and expanding to the point you might burst. 

In haste, J brought his mouth to yours once more, although the ability to kiss was lost for the both of you---shared moans and growls bounced around the caverns, hot breath that rushed through his lungs filling you with a tremulous groan. He buried himself inside you, pushing to the point your entire body shifted up the mattress’ now damp fabric. A different type of warmth this time, one that filled you and and made you whine. J found his release deep in your core, his frame stiff and taut, the muscle of his shoulders turning to stone beneath your leg. Finally, he released your neck. 

You inhaled sharply, the fire in your lungs doused much too quick, coaxing a litany of coughs from your throat, breaking apart with your weak moans as he slowly rocked his hips. He moved absently, grinding against you, pushing his cock deep as though he never wanted to leave the silk heat of your walls. He shrugged your leg off his shoulder, easing up the tension in your entire body. You felt your muscles sigh in relief as he dropped his forehead to your slick shoulder, hot breath billowing onto your chest. 

_Then there come’s the after moment,_ you thought. J’s hand crawled upwards, rounding your torso to slide beneath your back. He braced you in his arms, fingers wrapped lightly around the back of your neck as he gave another languid push. You were spent, the throbbing ache in your core more present than ever, but you couldn’t find the strength to speak. 

You laid like that for a good while, basking in the glow of your pleasure, bodies hot and melding together as one. He had softened inside you, but he didn’t move an inch. You felt the pull of exhaustion, the full body hurt that had become a familiarity, the fleeting kisses he graced your collarbone with. The sharp edges of his teeth threatened the skin, like he was baring himself to bite you, but it never came. 

“J.” You spoke, hoarse and riddled with fatigue. He hummed in response, his mouth gradually working up your neck. 

“You did good, _bunny.”_ He answered once he reached your ear, lightly nipping the bruised cartilage. At that, he pulled himself away. It hadn’t occurred to you how warm he made you, a rush of cool air swooping in at his absence. You shivered, your legs quivering on either side of his waist as you watched him take the knife in hand once more. That inhuman glow in his obsidian depths had simmered, leaving a type of sated contentment as he smoothly slipped the blade between your skin and the ribbon. 

It split, and it were as though that single piece was holding your very being together; your arms slackened, the tension in your shoulders giving a silent cry as your spine straightened against the mattress. It felt like your whole body gave a slow, long exhale. 

J had busied himself with stripping the ribbon from your depleted form, unwinding it with a care that stirred wonder in your eyes. His movements were decisive, as though if he turned you the wrong way you’d crumble to nothing. 

“Did you get the footage you were looking for?” You teased softly. J’s mangled lips curved just the slightest, and if you didn’t know him so well, you might not have seen it. When you had use of your arms once more, the first thing you did was touch his face. Cradling his jaw with your trembling palms, coaxing him to level his gaze with yours. 

“The camera work was a little... _Shaky.”_ He began, indulging you as he closed the switchblade with a sense of finality. 

“Might need to do a, uh, _retake.”_


End file.
